In June, 1871, there appeared in all the Republican (radical) newspapers of Texas to which these parties could gain access a most slanderous and libelous publication against myself, purporting to be the resolutions of a Republican convention of El Paso County, declaring me to be of infamous character and “capable of all the crimes in the calendar.”
This document was signed by three Americans as “President” and “Secretary” of the convention, and _purported_ to be signed by fifteen of the most prominent Mexicans of the county, _all_ of whom were my friends and _none_ of whom had ever attended any such “convention.”
I received written statements from _all_ of these Mexican gentlemen declaring their friendship for me and denouncing the forgery of their names. This crime was severely punishable by the laws of Texas, and the punishment was double wherever the name of another person was used to give respectability to the libel, and I could have caused these men to have been arrested and carried to Austin and punished there, but now that so many years have elapsed and these vicious and guilty men have gone to their last account I do not regret that they escaped, and I omit their names.
Simultaneously with the publication of the libel mentioned above there appeared in all the accessible Democratic papers in the State a letter signed “Victor” (B. F. Williams), containing the same slanders but somewhat changed in form, showing concert of action.
Then Governor Hamilton wrote me a letter cautioning me against any resort to violence and bidding me bide my time.
Then our little boy sickened and died, and Mrs. Mills’ health began to fail, and as my enemies, nearly all of whom had received substantial favors from me, showed no sign of relenting, we went again to Austin, this time in the mail coach, carrying the remains of our first born in the “boot,” to be buried at the Capital of Texas, where we hope also to rest when life’s fitful fever is past.
But neither then nor at any time did we intend to abandon our El Paso home.
Two years later the beautiful little Mary, our second and last child, died at Austin, and we laid her beside her brother. Then, indeed, our skies were gray.
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